“I hope you like Italian,” she called as she hurried to the other room, hoping he didn’t notice the warmth of humiliation flooding her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure. But I took a chance.”
She set the bag on the kitchen counter, which she noted was surprisingly clean for a bachelor pad, and rummaged through his cabinets, finding an equally surprising assortment of pots, pans, dishes, and cooking accessories.
“Elle?”
She turned to see Gabe hobbling in on his crutches. “So, do you prefer lasagna or veal piccata?” she asked. “I’m good with either.”
He shook his head a little, still looking bemused. “What are you doing here?”
She went still, her stomach sinking, and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling like a total idiot. “Oh my God. You probably have someone coming over. I didn’t even think… I’m so sorry! I should’ve called first.”
Now experiencing a whole new level of humiliation, she made for the door, hoping to make a quick exit. But he stepped into the center of the doorway in front of her, blocking her path just as she attempted to plow through, and she slammed into him, nearly knocking him on his ass. With a startled cry, her arms reflexively went around his waist, pulling him forward to keep him on his feet.
When she looked up at him, an apology on her lips, he was grinning down at her, his handsome face disconcertingly close to hers. “No one’s coming over, Elle,” he assured her, the sound of her name on his lips somehow as intimate as a lover’s caress. “Just you and me.”
She suddenly became very aware of the sculpted muscle beneath his shirt where her hands rested on his back and had the almost inescapable urge to let her fingertips go exploring. “Oh,” she managed, wondering what the hell had happened to her language skills.
His head tilted slightly to one side as he scrutinized her. “You okay?”
She took a step back, needing to put a little distance between them to quiet her pounding heart. “I just… I thought you might like some dinner. That’s all.”
His lopsided, dimpled grin grew. “I’ve been trying to get you to have dinner with me for years. You think I’m going to turn you down now?”
She couldn’t help returning his smile. “Yeah, well, getting shot to get me here was a bit extreme, don’t you think? Flowers might’ve been a less painful way to go.”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Nah. Flowers are far too prosaic for someone like you. At least, not any ordinary flowers. Everybody gets those.”
She sent him a cautious look, wondering what cheesy come-on he was teeing up. “Uh-huh. And what kind of flowers would you give me?”
He held her gaze for a moment. “Wildflowers.”
Her breath caught in her chest. Was it possible that he really had been the boy who’d left them in her locker? Had her silly teenage fantasy been accurate after all? No. It was just a coincidence that he’d selected wildflowers—most likely because that’s what she’d brought him in the hospital. But still, she had to ask, “And why’s that?”
He shoved off the doorframe and hobbled forward on his crutches, opening one of the cabinets Elle hadn’t gotten to yet and revealing a stack of simple, white plates. “Because they’re honest and unpredictable and thrive no matter where they’re planted.”
She was a little breathless when she replied, “And what does that mean?”
“It means you’re one of the most incredible women I’ve ever known, Elle,” he told her. “And you can see through my bullshit like nobody else. Clearly, I’m going to need to up my game to make any headway.”
Elle tried to cover her happiness at the compliment by giving him a saucy glance as she stood on her tiptoes to reach the plates and sashayed past him to set them on the table. “Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas, hotshot. This is just dinner. Nothing else.”
When she turned around to grab the food, she was surprised to find him close behind her, his smile laced with mischief. “You’re perfectly safe with me. I swear I won’t try a thing.” He winked and added, “Unless you want me to.”
She gave him a wry look, hoping he couldn’t tell how damnably hard her heart was pounding when he looked at her that way. “Fat chance, Dawson.”
He shrugged with an exaggerated sigh. “Suit yourself.”
She laughed a little as she swept her hair up and pulled it into a haphazard ponytail, trying to tame the thick waves with the rubber band she kept handy on her wrist. “Go sit down,” she said, shooing him away. “I’ll handle this.”
She turned away and began dishing up the food, but she could feel the weight of Gabe’s heated stare, the sensation warming her skin and making her restless in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. And when she finally turned and caught his gaze, she was surprised to see not the usual playfulness and mischief sparkling in his eyes but what she could’ve sworn was loneliness.